I was driving down the highway thirty three past midnight. I was trying to go as fast as possible without breaking the speed limit. The last thing I needed was a cop following me when I was driving a stolen car, had a dead man in the trunk, two shotguns, a handgun in my strap and a bag full of cash in the passenger seat. I was tired to say the least, my last and only meal had been a stale sandwich I got from a run down gas station around midday, thanks god it didn’t do anything funny to my stomach or would be in serious shit. My burn phone was dead as dead can be; maybe that was…

This is a shitty day, it started all kinds of wrong. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the signs. ‘Fabrizio, Fabrizio, are you there? Over’ The radio started spewing words and ruining my smoke time. ‘The fuck do you want, Marcello? Over’ ‘We are going to move to the north. Enrio saw some little fucks running around a few hours ago, we think there is a horde somewhere. Have you seen anything? Over’ ‘Nah! Haven’t seen any lately, but you never know with those things. Over’ ‘Got it. Keep your eyes open, this are the first ones we’ve seen in a week. It’s too quiet out there. Over’ And that was the start of a really bad day.…

“What does it look like out there, Félix?” “Just like here, everything is covered in snow. Have the others returned yet?” “No, you are the first to arrive. Eduardo came back for a few minutes to change one of his crampons, but he went back out immediately.” Félix turned around and looked at the entrance of the mine. “It’s ironic; we always imagined the apocalypse as a disaster full of chaos and covered in fire. Or a desert like one of those Mad Max movies. On the contrary, we have this frozen world and that dying sun above our heads.” “Don’t forget the dead walking endlessly on the snow.” “How could I forget them?” replied Félix. “At least we haven’t…

I Newcomer It was midday on a Sunday, and Johnathan Urbez was driving his dream car, an RX7. The engine was modified to be even faster; the tuned machine used a racing transmission, special brakes, suspension, and tires. The body was covered in all kinds of paintings and designs. After five years of hard work, dedication, and a lot of money, this beast was ready and John had to take it out for a ride. The engine was roaring, and the feeling of going over two hundred kilometers per hour was exhilarating. The tension on his arms from handling the wheel, his brain-aware state—this must be what a professional race driver feels; then the curb came, he misjudged his skills and…